Fairytale Romance
by TouchOfViolet
Summary: It's funny how one near death experience can bring emotions to the surface.
1. Save Me

**Disclaimer**: Batman and all related characters are the properties of DC Comics and Warner Brothers. Batman was created by Bob Kane.  
Also, all chapters in this story have been titled with Dave Matthews Band song titles. Well, Dave Matthews Band _and _Dave Matthews song titles. ….yes, there is a difference.

**A/N**: Well, I was deleting things off my computer, and I found this. I wrote this…gosh, I don't even remember when. A while ago. I don't know why I never posted it. Anyway, it's just a cute little Bruce/Babs romance. There's quite a bit of fluff in this story. You have been warned.  
.

**Fairytale Romance  
**by: TouchofViolet

.  
**Chapter One  
**Save Me  
.

.  
It was supposed to be a routine illegal arms bust. They had studied the layout of the warehouse. They had studied the different types of firearms that were being produced there. They were prepared for pretty much anything. But they weren't counting on being drastically outnumbered.

Two to twenty-two, under normal circumstances, wouldn't have thrown the heroes for quite a loop; but firearms of all different sizes, and goons, who were more than happy to use said firearms, cornered them. They had actually managed to take down about 14 of the goons before three of them escaped to the roof with several cases full of different weapons. Batman had followed after them, leaving Batgirl alone with the rest of the lot. Which, normally, wouldn't have been a problem. But in her attempt to get across from one side of the warehouse to another she had overestimated the jump between a crate and a table, and landed very hard, twisting her right ankle.

The warehouse was damp and dark. The whispers of the remaining thugs echoed throughout the room. Batgirl crawled over to the corner and sat behind boxes of AK-47s, hoping no one would find her until she managed to regain composure. She pressed her fingers against her mask. It was a _stupid_ mistake. Where had her mind been?

A scream broke through the silence. It was not a "damsel in distress" scream, which would have sent her searching for the owner of the scream, but a "big girly man being frightened by Batman" scream that made her crack a smile. Perhaps their situation wasn't so bleak after all.

There was an explosion. Batgirl was caught completely off guard. She scrambled for cover while concrete and ceiling tiles rained down around her, clashing like thunder against the ground.

When the noise subsided, she cautiously blinked her blue eyes open. The goons had scattered and were running away as if the devil himself was grabbing at their heels. Batgirl stood on shaky legs, wincing in pain when her ankle protested.

"Batman!" She called, hobbling over to the gaping hole in the ceiling only about fifteen feet away from where she stood. The explosion had tore open most of the roof, and it didn't look like the rest of it was going to remain standing.

"_Batman_!" Her voice grew desperate. Why wasn't he answering her?

"BATMAN!"

Frantically she looked around, searching for any signs of him. They had to get out of there, and _soon_, before the building fell down on them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something black. Batgirl spun around and tried to locate it. A few yards away from her, sticking out of a pile of fallen ceiling tiles and concrete, was Batman's boot.

She ignored the pain in her ankle and ran. She fell to her knees when she reached the pile of rubble and viciously began tearing away at it. Batgirl found him at the bottom.

Tears welled up behind her eyes. "Batman?" She croaked out. She swallowed over the large lump in her throat. "Oh, please, Batman." She lowered her ear over his mouth. If he was breathing, it was too weak for her to hear it.

The tears spilled over her blue eyes, streaming over her mask and staining her cheeks. Her gloved fingers held his face. "Bruce," she whispered hoarsely, "please wake up."

She laid her head down on his chest, tears crashing down onto his Kevlar. "I need you," she whispered. "Oh, Bruce, I need you." She rested against him, her breath coming out in shallow pants. He felt lifeless against her.

Hours seemed to pass, and just when Batgirl was about to stand up and get them out of the collapsing building, strong arms weakly wrapped themselves around her, holding her against Batman's chest. Batgirl raised her head, and smiled joyfully when she saw the very faintest of grins tug at his lips. "Bruce!" she sniffled. "Thank God."

A large chunk of ceiling fell and smashed to the ground, and pulled Batgirl's attention away from Batman. Her hand traveled to his utility belt, and she pressed the button that called the Batmobile to them.

"Come on," she said, struggling to stand up. "We gotta get out of here."

**------**

"I should've been there!" The overly excited voice of Timothy Drake echoed throughout the caverns of the bat cave. He was standing by the computer console, both hands lodged in his hair, and a frustrated look on his face.

Barbara sat with her right leg propped up on a chair in front of her. She had changed into her normal attire, and was watching Alfred tend to Bruce like a mother hen. Luckily, he had faired well. He hadn't been hurt in the explosion, just the fall. He had managed to brace himself for impact, resulting in only cuts and scratches over his body. Bruce winced when Alfred applied peroxide on a rather nasty gash on his arm.

"I could've helped you out on that roof, Bruce," Tim told him, pacing back and forth. "I would've-"

"And you could have been there," Bruce interrupted, "if you had finished your report on Theodore Roosevelt."

Tim stopped pacing. He gave a chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah…"

Bruce's gray-blue eyes narrowed accusingly at the young man. "Did you finish your report on Theodore Roosevelt, Timothy?"

Tim sighed, defeated, and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'll go finish it," he moaned. He walked to the stairs of the bat cave as if he was walking to the electric chair; his shoulders slumped in fierce dejection. "Stupid Theodore Roosevelt." He muttered under his breath. "Twenty-sixth President of the United States. Designated 150 National Forests…."

His muttering became more and more distant, and he disappeared into the manor, presumably to finish his report.

"All done, Master Bruce," Alfred said, stepping away from the billionaire to admire his handy work. "I do believe you'll live to see another day." The aging butler gathered together some gauze and antiseptic. "Your turn, Miss Gordon."

The alarm on his wristwatch, a Christmas gift from Tim, went off. "Oh," he began, pressing a button and subsiding the noise. "It seems my turkey is done."

"That's okay, Alfred," Barbara tried to tell him not to bother, and she'd just wrap her ankle herself. But Bruce stood up and interrupted her.

"You finish dinner," he stated, taking the gauze and antiseptic from Alfred, "and I'll look at Barbara's ankle." He spoke with such authority and finalization that Barbara closed her mouth. She did, however, manage to glare at him quite efficiently.

Alfred nodded and began to make his way up the stairs. "I'll call you when dinner is ready, sir."

Bruce walked over to his female counterpart, ignoring her glare completely. He gently lifted up her leg from the chair, and sat down, placing her foot in his lap. Careful fingers ran over her ankle, which had swollen to three times its normal size and had become rather purple.

"How did this happen, Barbara?" he asked, letting his eyes pierce her. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Suddenly, the floor was very interesting.

"I was jumping from a crate to a table, and I…over jumped. I landed funny on my ankle." She sighed, tucking a strand of fiery red hair behind her ear. His gaze quickly turned from concern to disapproval. "Oh, shut up." Barbara crossed her arms against her chest and glared at him again.

He shook his head, made her bend her leg at the knee, and scooted his chair closer to hers. He held her calf in his hands, asking her to please try to rotate her foot. She couldn't; at least, not very well. But she could point and flex her toes. With amazing gentleness he started to wrap her ankle up. She watched him work, enchanted by his delicacy, shocked by his tenderness. When he finished, his fingers traveled to her calf and ran up to her knee before finally releasing her leg.

Barbara was suddenly aware of how very close they were. She was also suddenly aware of the fact that she wanted to be even closer. Bruce sat still, staring down at her with an emotion in his gray-blue eyes that made her heart skip a beat and flutter around in her chest.

She inched her face towards him ever so subtly. "Bruce," she whispered, a smile crossing her features, "I-"

He kissed her.

He kissed her so quickly and without warning that she didn't have time to stop smiling.

She was still smiling when he pulled away, but her eyes were wide with shock and confusion. He opened his mouth to say something, pulling his hands back that had found a way to her shoulders. Before he got the chance to say anything, however, Barbara took his face in her hands and kissed him.

------

In all his years as Bruce Wayne's butler, Alfred had walked in on Master Bruce doing many strange and unexpected things. Though the scene before him was not exactly strange, and certainly not unexpected (he'd been expecting it for over a year now), it did manage to catch him momentarily off guard.

He strode down the stairs, the crutches he had managed to pull free from the supply closet where Master Timothy had stashed them at his side. It took him the entire walk to the cave floor to figure out exactly how to separate the two, who were currently clutching each other like they'd fall of the face of the Earth if they let go. With his free hand, he made a fist and pressed it against his lips. Louder than necessary, he coughed.

"Dinner's ready." He announced.

Master Bruce and Miss Gordon froze in mid kiss. Master Bruce's eyes shot open first, but he made no motion to untangle himself from the girl. Instead, it was Miss Gordon who pulled away from him, looking at the butler with wide, blue eyes. Her face became as red as her hair, and she stood up, hobbling on her bad ankle.

Alfred choked back a smile. She looked as though her father had caught her sneaking a boy into her room late at night. "Will Miss Gordon be staying for dinner?"

She shook her head fervently. "Oh, no." She said, hopping over to him. "I…no. No. No."

He handed the crutches over to her when she reached his side. "Very well then. Have a nice night, Miss Gordon."

"Yeah," She responded, situating herself on the crutches and staggering up the stairs.

Master Bruce rose from his seat, watching the young woman leave with empty eyes. After she had walked into the manor, he turned his attention to his butler.

"I see you wrapped Miss Gordon's ankle, sir?"

He cleared his throat, finally blinking. "Yes, Alfred. It was just a sprain." He walked passed the older gentleman, hurrying up the stairs. "You said that dinner was ready?"

The butler nodded to Master Bruce's retreating form. "Ready and waiting, sir." With a sigh, Alfred followed him up the stairs.


	2. Rhyme & Reason

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, I do not own Batman and all related characters.

.  
**Chapter Two  
**Rhyme & Reason  
.  
.  
Barbara flung open the door, stumbling inside her apartment. She still hadn't quite figured out how to maneuver the crutches. She threw them to the ground, glaring in their general direction, and slammed the door behind her. Her embarrassment from earlier had faded into anger at the stupid crutches. She tripped over herself more with their help then without them.

She was planning all the ways she could destroy them when the phone rang. She hopped over to said phone and picked it up. "What?" Barbara snapped, collapsing on to the couch.

Familiar laughter sent a wave of guilt crashing against Barbara. "I see you're glad to hear from me."

"Dick!" She smiled despite herself. "Hi."

"Hello," he returned the greeting. She could hear the grin in his voice. "How was your day?"

_Oh, just fine. Had a long day at work, but I had Chinese food from my favorite place for lunch. And, oh, yeah, I made out with Bruce._

She shook her head. "Good, good. I, um, did manage to sprain my ankle tonight though."

_You remember Bruce, right?_

"Aww," Dick said sympathetically. "Are you okay?"

_He took you in when your parents died._

"Yeah." She said, nodding even though he couldn't see her. "I'm fine. My pride is broken though."

_Adopted you._

He chuckled.

_Dressed you in spandex and had you be his Second Lieutenant in his fight against injustice._

"How was your day?"

_But you left him behind. You left me behind._

"Busy." He answered. "But, well, I managed to score two tickets to the Rolling Stones concert tomorrow night here in Bludhaven. Which is kinda why I was calling. But a concert probably would be the worst thing for your ankle, huh?"

_And I kissed him._

Since Dick had moved to Bludhaven, things between them had gotten (slowly) better. He called her about every other week. She had visited him once he got his apartment set up, and he had even come over to her place for dinner a couple of times. But this was the first time since he returned from Finding Himself that he'd actually asked her on a real date.

"Yeah. Sorry." She spoke slowly. The words had to fight their way out of her mouth.

_And I liked it._

Barbara could hear what sounded like sizzling in the receiver. He must've been cooking a late dinner. "Well, I have some old concert videos of them." He said. "I could bring some over and it'll be just like we're there."

_And I like him._

She swallowed hard. "That sounds really….oh, gotta go. Sorry, Dick. My oven is…done." She hung up before he could say anything.

_A lot._

"'My oven is done'?" Barbara repeated. She sighed and hung her face in her hands. "Sure, that sounds much better than the truth."

------

Bruce stifled an annoyed sigh as he signed another form. Lucious had handed him a large folder, telling him to sign his name wherever there was an "X", and get it back to him by morning.

Sometimes acting like a clumsy, good-hearted, playboy fool wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

His eyes drifted off the paper he was currently signing and to a picture on his desk. It had been there, in that same spot, for years. In fact, he couldn't remember his desk without that picture.

Bruce put his pen down and reached for the photograph. It had been snapped moments after Dick, all of ten years old, had caught his first fish. He was holding it up to the camera, smiling from ear to ear. Bruce stood next to him, a smile on his face rivaling Dick's in size, an arm wrapped around the boy's shoulders.

Their first father and son outing.

He put the picture down, a sigh escaping despite his attempt to restrain it.

"Good afternoon, sir," Alfred greeted, entering the room with a feather duster in hand. "Are you hungry?"

Bruce shook his head. He lifted his pen back up and returned to signing forms. "No thanks, Alfred. Still full from breakfast."

The older man began dusting the shelves of the study, using the ladder to reach the top. He hummed quietly to himself.

"Ah," he exclaimed. "I was hoping you had this." He plucked a book from the shelf and crawled down the ladder with it in hand.

"What's that?" Bruce asked, half-listening, still scribbling his name onto forms.

"The Kahil Gibran biography," Alfred responded. "Brilliant man."

The younger man nodded, looking up at his butler. "'Where is the justice of political power if it executes the murderer and jails the plunderer, and then itself marches upon neighboring lands, killing thousands and pillaging the very hills?'" He quoted from memory.

Alfred returned the nod, skimming through the book. "And my personal favorite—'If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. And if they don't, they never were.'"

Bruce 'hmm'ed quietly, furrowing his brow. He went back to signing forms.

The butler sighed wistfully. "I remember when my father first told me that quote." Bruce spared a glance at the old man. "I was nine, and had found a hurt pigeon in the backyard. Filthy creatures, you know. But I took care of that bird. Nursed it back to health. Finally, when it was well enough to be sent back to the wild, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. My dad sat me down, and told me that quote.

"That night I set the bird free." He smiled and closed the book. "Well, I'm sure my father had hoped it would have been the last of that filthy thing. But, sure enough, the pigeon found its way back to the backyard, and came to visit like clockwork every few days.

"Brilliant man," Alfred said once more with a sigh in his voice. He climbed back up the ladder to redeposit the book. Humming again, he returned to dusting.

A knock at the front door interrupted them. Alfred climbed back down the ladder, taking his feather duster with him, and went to answer it.

------

Barbara followed behind Alfred as he led her to the study, nervously biting her lip. For some reason, this had all seemed so much easier in her car on the way over to the manor. Now that she was actually in the manor, all she wanted to do was run away.

Not that she could run far with her sprained ankle and crutches.

She glared at nothing in particular, the anger for the crutches bubbling over and pushing away her fear of rejection. In fact, she was so focused on her anger she didn't realize that she had reached the study until Alfred had left her there, standing alone before Bruce, unable to run.

"Hi," Barbara fumbled.

He glanced up from his desk. "Hello," he said, and quickly returned to scribbling away at whatever papers were before him.

She sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk, resting her crutches on the ground next to her. "I, um, wanted to talk to you."

Bruce nodded, pausing in his writing to move the paper around. Once the papers were thoroughly shuffled, he was back to writing.

Barbara's lips froze, partially open. Her mind was reeling. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but he was barely acknowledging her presence.

"I, I just…"

His pen made a scratching noise against the paper, and was currently the loudest noise in the room. Bruce worked in a cycle. He'd write, shuffle, and write. Write, shuffle, write. Write, shuffle, write.

The noise was driving her crazy.

"Bruce."

He froze in mid-shuffle, looking at her from the corner of his eyes.

"Please."

He cleared his throat and put down the papers. He leaned back in his chair, watching her closely.

She had his attention. And absolutely no idea what to do with it.

Under his gaze she fidgeted and wrung her hands in her lap. "I just, I wanted to talk to you about last night. About our kiss. I mean," Barbara dared to meet his stare, "what did it even…_mean_?"

"Barbara," Bruce began, folding his hands on his desk, "what happened last night should _not_ have happened. It was a mistake. And I assure you it will never happen again." He paused, looking around the room. "I… I am sorry."

She nodded, blinking back the tears that were forming behind her eyes. "Yeah, I understand." She smiled, reaching for her crutches and standing up. "Boy, am I glad we got that straightened out. I was worried it would make things weird between us. But I guess it won't change things between us at all, huh?"

Barbara made it to the doorway of the study, and found it hard to step through. She looked up at the ceiling, blinking furiously. "Bruce," she started, looking over her shoulder at him. He had gone back to writing. "Did…. did the kiss mean anything to you?"

He didn't look up. He wrote, shuffled, wrote. Wrote, shuffled, wrote.

"No."

She nodded again, turning her head as tears fell from her eyes. Hurriedly she walked through the doorway and out of the manor.

------

Alfred watched Miss Gordon leave, unsure of how to proceed. She was crying. Obviously, the conversation she had with Master Bruce did not go well.

He finished cutting the crusts off Master Timothy's peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and made his way to the study. Peaking in, he found Master Bruce still signing forms. To an untrained eye, he seemed fine. But Alfred knew better. Master Bruce's eyebrows had knitted together and his lips were pursed. He was glaring at the papers he was signing.

"Are you ready for lunch, Master Bruce?" the butler questioned, stepping fully in to the study.

Master Bruce shook his head, shuffling his papers. "No, Alfred. I'm fine."

* * *

Do you like to state your opinion? Do you want people to know what you're thinking? Do you like to say what's on your mind? Then you should review! It's like, a totally awesome way to express yourself. Seriously. Do it. 


	3. Crash Into Me

**Disclaimer:** I do not own them, Sam I am. I do not eat green eggs and...ham.  
What?

**A/N:** Manythanks to everyone who took the time to read/review this story. :)  
.

.  
**Chapter Three  
**Crash Into Me  
.

.  
Barbara raised a hand off the wheel to wipe away her tears. Her nose was pink and her eyes swollen, her mouth was dry and begging for water.

For ten minutes she'd been driving, unable to control her tears. For ten minutes she'd thought of all the reasons he'd been right. For ten minutes she'd thought of how they'd be better off without complicating things.

But she wasn't buying it anymore.

She glared at the road ahead of her; her hands tightened around the wheel. Barbara did a u-turn and the car tires skidded on the asphalt.

"Let's see you talk your way out of THIS one, Bruce Wayne."

------

It was funny how quickly she lost her resolve the moment she saw him. He was still sitting at his desk, signing papers. He looked up at her when she burst through the door, seeming rather caught off guard by her sudden entrance.

"Barbara," Bruce began, his voice laced with disappointment "I thought-"

"Don't '_Barbara_' me!" She interrupted and surprised herself with how angry she sounded. She hobbled over to him and dropped the crutches, leaning her hands against the front of his desk. "You look me in the eyes and you tell me that kiss didn't mean anything to you. You look me in the eyes and you tell me that _I_ don't mean anything to you! You look me in the _eyes, _Bruce Wayne, and _you tell me _I'm not _worth_ _your time_!"

He blinked slowly, unsurely at her. "You…you don't want me to do that."

She shook her head and let go of the desk. "You're right," she said, her voice much softer than before. "I don't." Barbara chuckled ironically. "I don't want you to be able to say those things. I _want_ you to say that I mean something to you. That you're willing to put your fears aside and just let me in. But most of all," she caught his gaze and smiled at him, "I want you to let me love you."

Barbara reached for her fallen crutches and steadied herself. With a sigh and another shake of the head she said, "No matter what you do, Bruce, or how tough you act, it isn't going to change how I feel about you. I love you," she shrugged. "Whether you can deal with it or not, _I love you_."

Awkwardly, she started walking out of the study. "And I think we'd be great together."

------

Bruce watched her leave, terribly confused.

What…just happened? 

It was five minutes after her departure before he was able to get to his feet and walk out of the study. She was long gone. And he supposed that was a good thing, considering he still didn't know exactly what happened.

"Uh, Bruce," a young voice started from behind him. He turned around to see Tim standing in the hallway, smirking. "I think that was your pigeon coming back to you."

Bruce narrowed his eyes at his young ward. "How's your report on Theodore Roosevelt coming, Tim?"

Tim sighed and dug his toes into the carpet. "I'll go finish it," he whimpered. Slumping his shoulders he walked to the stairwell, and mumbled, "Theodore Roosevelt, youngest president in U.S. history…"

Bruce watched him leave, terribly confused.

------ 

Barbara sunk further into the warm bubble bath water. She sighed, and the bubbles parted. She had thought taking a candle lit bubble bath would make her feel better. She had also thought, at one point in her life, that true love actually existed and would conquer all in the end. Apparently, she had thought wrong on both counts.

She pulled the stopper out of the drain and grabbed her towel. Barbara grabbed her robe off the metal hanger on the door and wrapped herself in it. She limped out of the bathroom and into the rest of her one room apartment, running her fingers through her wet hair like a comb. White specks of light in the darkness caught her attention.

_Eyes_.

Barbara turned on the lamp by her couch. She gasped despite herself. "How did you get in here?"

Batman stepped out of the darkness, walking towards her slowly.

"Stupid question, I guess," Barbara said, more to herself than her visitor. She pulled the robe tighter around her body, suddenly self-conscious. "A better one would be: _why_ are you here?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he kept approaching slowly, making Barbara more and more self-conscious. He grasped her upper arms, and Barbara's eyes went wide. She could feel his breath on her face while he just stood there, staring down at her from behind his mask.

She raised her shaking hands and gently pushed the mask off, exposing Bruce's beautiful gray-blue eyes. Bruce swallowed hard, and rested his forehead against hers.

"I'm willing," he began, his voice low and quiet, "to give us a try, if you are."

Barbara laughed. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

-------

**The Epilogue**  
.

.  
Commissioner James Gordon sat in his regular booth at Sal's Diner, his face in a newspaper. He clutched his fingers around his warm cup of coffee and sniffed at an article about the Batman. Apparently the new reporter wasn't too fond of masked vigilantes, even if said vigilantes broke up illegal arms rings.

He turned the page and raised his mug to his lips, sipping at the steaming hot coffee. Sal made the best coffee in town. Better than that franchise crap they were selling at every corner by far.

Jim checked his watch. His daughter had called him last night, asking if they could meet for breakfast at Sal's. She had something she wanted to tell him that she just had to do in person. And she was now ten minutes late.

He sighed and went back to his paper. Page three had an article discussing whether or not violence in the media affected children. Jim had almost finished the article when a gentle hand on his shoulder pulled him away.

"Daddy?"

Jim looked up and smiled behind his mustache at his daughter. "Good morning, sweetheart." He jumped to his feet and kissed her cheek. "You look beautiful."

"Oh," Barbara grinned tucked a strand of her fiery red hair behind her ear. "Thank you. But, well, Daddy, I kind of had an ulterior motive for asking you to breakfast…" She glanced passed him and waved someone forward. "There's someone I want to introduce you to."

Jim crossed his arms against his chest, nodding. "All right." He turned and his eyes widened when he saw just who Barbara was waving towards them.

"I think you know Bruce Wayne, Daddy." She said, the billionaire holding out a hand for the Commissioner to shake.

Jim nodded. "Of course," he said, shaking the man's hand. "It's good to see you again, Bruce."

"Likewise, Jim." He greeted.

"Bruce is," Barbara began while they were still shaking hands, "my, um…my _boyfriend_, Daddy."

Commissioner Gordon's face fell. He let go of Bruce's hand, his dark eyes narrowing accusingly. Professionally speaking, Jim didn't mind the billionaire. He donated a lot of money every year to support the police force. Personally speaking, Jim minded _very much_ the _playboy_ billionaire _dating_ _his_ _daughter_, who was HALF his age.

Different ways he could afflict physical pain onto the billionaire danced before the Commissioner's eyes. But when Barbara took hold of her new boyfriends hand and smiled from ear to ear, he stopped thinking about hurting Bruce. He realized he hadn't seen his daughter smile quite like that in a very long time.

Jim clasped a hand on Bruce's upper arm. "Sit down, Son. I'll get you a cup of coffee. Sal makes the best cup of joe in town."

* * *

The End. 


End file.
